


Harvest is Coming

by MERSCoV



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Amateur Ghosthunting, Forbidden Love, Multi, Shotgun Wedding, colonial period
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:18:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MERSCoV/pseuds/MERSCoV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the New World, the Starks do their best to live out their lives honorably and free of sin, the Baratheons attempt to keep a lid on their sordid temptations, the Lannisters scheme to monopolize the farmland, and everyone else is simply along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. For the Night is Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and let me know what you think! Feel free to be as scathing as you want in your criticism. ;D

Arya knew she shouldn't have stayed out tonight. Her father's leniency only stretched so far, and tonight wasn't a night to test his mood.

As she ran through the collection of trees and shrubberies, she remembered her father's frustration when he found out the Lannisters confiscated some of the Baratheons' land in some dispute or another. As of late, the Stark patriarch had been more often stressed than not. One could suppose it all started with the death of her father's old friend Jon Arryn and the mysterious circumstances surrounding it. There was little the 13-year-old could do about it though, and she preferred to keep out of it all the same. She had other things to fill her time with.

Tonight, she was in the woods with Mycah, Gendry, and her loyal mutt Nymeria. They often played in the woods, just not so late. Really, the only reason for the time of their outing was the rumor of a ghost and Arya's determination to hunt it.

"A-Arya, are you- you sure this was a good idea?" Mycah called to her in hushed tones from beside her, panting from exertion. The very implication of what he asked had pushed her buttons. If there was one thing no one could accuse Arya Stark of, it was giving up. Instead of shoving him down to the ground though, she took a different approach.  

"Shuddup, you sure you're a _man_?" She taunted with a grin. 

"He's right, Arya! This was a stupid idea. We haven't seen a damned thing so far," Gendry chimed in from behind her. Being much broader and less agile, he could hardly keep up with her pace like Mycah could. What a stupid bull, she thought sourly. He couldn't even catch up with the rest of the group, yet he was judging the worth of their mission?

"We _will_ , though!" She insisted. But he stopped in his tracts, so she felt compelled to do so too. She glanced over to make sure Nymeria was there, only then to smile when she realized the canine was nuzzling against her palm. 

"Yeah right! When the mountains blow in the wind like leaves!" Gendry hissed.

Arya snickered, "So you reckon yerself a poet now?" She could picture it now: Gendry wearing a fancy powdered wig as he recited his Shakespearian sonnet, his back hunched something atrocious and grammar practically nonexistent. It was more than anything to make any decent-humored man split his sides - except for perhaps Stannis Baratheon. She heard rumors that he never so much as smiled, not even as a babe. 

"No way," He replied, "Heard it from that creepy midwife when Dany miscarried."

"So now yo- you're hangin' around m-midwives?" Mycah teased, even though he was still out of breath. 

Arya smirked, eyes glinting with that familiar mischief. "Yeah, _Gendry_ , what else don't we know?"

Gendry rolled his eyes and went on without them, fullspeed ahead. Arya's brow furrowed, and she called out to him. No answer. So she looked to Mycah and ran after the stupid bullheaded boy. 

It seemed easy enough at first, the sharp wind in her lungs and hair blowing backward as she ran quickly down the path through the trees stained with summer. She had always been a fast runner, not that it was appreciated much in their quaint little town. But now, just among the boys, it was her greatest asset - Gendry his strength, Mycah his easy manners, and Arya her speed. However, her supply of energy was not unlimited.

One foot after the other, she reminded herself when she felt her body grow heavy. It was but one foot after the other, and, with enough, it'd be sufficient. Every once in a while, as if searching for some distraction, she'd glance to her left and her right for Mycah and Nymeria. If they weren't with her in the dark woods, she'd surely be lost. She now knew a little of why she wasn't allowed to be out so late. Perhaps her father really did know what he was talking about sometimes. Her frown deepened, but it didn't hold shape for long. She found herself panting, but there was a sound that far overshadowed that.

There were voices, all too familiar and ominious to her ears. She glanced over to Mycah, and he returned her bewildered gaze with a frightened one.

"That wolf will get what's comin' to him!" growled a voice in the distance, gravelly with a undignified quality to it. Arya stopped in her tracts the moment she heard the voice, bewildered by its strange familiarity. Besides that, the idea of speaking of a wolf as though it were a scoundrel seemed odd to her in a way she couldn't quite explain. 

"We can't just kill him, you fool," argued a companion, sillhouette larger and voice quieter. "The bloody Starks will be all _over_ that!"

Arya furrowed her eyebrows as she clung back to the darkness. Her family? Why should they ca- Oh. Their family sigil pictured wolves. Her brother Robb was even referred to as "The Little Wolf" on the odd occasion. The Starks were the wolves. Then, the realization dawned upon her, they wanted to hurt Robb - or her father. For certain, if Robb was "The Little Wolf" then their father was " _The_ Wolf".  Her family was in danger then, she frowned. They, though children, had stumbled upon some great and terrible plot hatched by evildoers.

But it was a plot not meant for their ears, and, therefore, made dangerous by their hearing it. She looked to Mycah, knowing they had to get out of here. Gendry could handle himself, wherever he was. He was nearly a man grown, and a strong one too if his toiling hours at the forge completely shirtless were any indication. She and Mycah, however, had no manpower and certainly no weapons. It was better to turn back and warn her father before it was too late.

_"Go home,"_ She mouthed, not daring to even whisper lest the men have sharp ears. He nodded in vague understanding.

He turned to leave. She hoped for silently, and it was. He was as quiet as a shadow. That is, until his foot reached the ground. _**Crackle**_ , the sound the step made. **  
**

 

But it was also the sound made when they snapped his neck, right in front of the girl cloaked in shadows.


	2. To Love Their Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb makes Theon's heart throb, and Myrcella settles on a fella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support! Here's Chapter 2, focusing on Theon, Robb, and Myrcella with two different points of view this time. I'm not really happy with this chapter, but it's an important one in setting up one of the main plotlines so it had to be done.

Robb Stark was the kind of man Theon was sure he could never be. He had this way about him, his curled hair always shiny and his dimpled grin always captivating. Confident and assured, he succeeded at one task after another with that same delighted lilt to his voice, as though life were some great folly to adore. It seemed the world were made for him, rather than the other way around.

Even as Theon forced his thoughts away from the handsome lad beside him, his mind just wouldn't cooperate.

New shoes? Robb would suit them well.

Upcoming harvest? Robb's family would rake in high profits for certain.

Wood to chop? It brought to mind Robb's steady, husky breathing as he heaves his axe... Theon shook his head. Stop it, he told himself, expression darkening.

Certainly, he was going mad. The Starks didn't welcome his presence there in their home, and with good reason. The Elder Greyjoy had tried to kill the patriarch of the Baratheons - Robb's namesake Robert. Of course he failed, what with all the relative-in-laws that surrounded the Baratheon in hopes of more coin. When Balon Greyjoy had been arrested for the crime, he left behind a young child named Theon, who wouldn't stop asking everyone what was going on. For he had no clue. His sister left with his uncles, them having forgotten about the runt of the litter. So the dear friend of Mr. Baratheon had taken him in, but years living with them had not granted him any warmth. There was no reason for Robb Stark, of all men, to care for _him_.

He wasn't a Stark. He was a Greyjoy, and, no matter how much he wanted to, there was no forgetting that.

"Theon, you alright? You look weary," Robb asked, tilting forward so that he was directly in Theon's line of sight. The Stark boy's shirt was a little loose, the neckline dipping lower than usual on him. Theon could tell because of the chiseled chest covered in small hairs in his immediate vision.

Theon turned his head away, cheeks burning. "I'm fine," He mumbled.

Robb's eyebrows raised incredulously. "If you insist," He replied, unease present in his voice. He got up from his seat beside Theon on the bed, and Theon watched as the Young Wolf walked over and crawled under the covers of his own. Theon brought his hands together between his knees, fingers combing between one another. "I do insist," Theon muttered lamely, eyes focused down on his hands.

They spent several minutes like that in utter silence, except for the occasional yawn on either end, before the mood finally broke.

Loud footsteps brought Robb back up into a sitting position, wondering who had business to be running about at that time of night. But then, panting in the doorway, was little Arya Stark beside her faithful dog Nymeria.

"Th-They killed Mycah!" She exclaimed, that familiar agony in her voice.

* * *

 

**Kick.  
**

The little blonde with her hair in a bun, suddenly found herself on the floor. Eyes burning with unreleased tears, she swallowed her pain and took the beating, as she usually did.

"You worthless little dog!" screeched her brother, swinging his leg to ready himself for another kick. She took the beating with little complaint. After all, it was her fault for making that comment about his horse. She should have known he'd react this way.

******Kick.** ** **

Myrcella took in another shaky intake of breath, a silent prayer for this one to end soon. Somehow, she never held out much hope for her brother's abuse altogether coming to an end. When she dared to dream, it was often something unambitious, a simple little wish that only came from the fully content and the completely broken. She merely asked this beating to end sooner or leave her with less bruises. She was beyond rescuing. By this point, all one could do was hope Joffrey was feeling kind. 

 "Have that make you-"  **Kick.** "-think _twice_ before crossing me again!"  ** ** **  
******

She winced from the impact of that last one, but she forced her eyes shut before he could see her tears. "I-I will," She choked out, hoping her obedience would sate him.

But it hadn't. He must have sensed her desperation. He simply laughed cruelly at her promise and beat her some more. Each time, he did so harder and in places he had hurt her terribly and recently, to provoke a reaction out of her. Testing his boundaries, he kicked her between the legs a few times as well. That made her feel queasy, wondering if his fixation on hurting her stemmed from more than just simple sadism.

When he finally moved back to her ribs, she clenched up, anticipating the sharp pain that came with his marks of violence.

Suddenly, though, Joffrey stopped, someone having grabbed his arm. "Just what do you think you're doing to her?" came an acidic voice filled with all sorts of disdain.

"Teaching her a lesson, _Stark_ ," He sputtered out the words like venom. "Go on and be gone before I do the same to you."

She attempted to crawl away before a foot stomped on her back, pinning her to the ground once more. The impact sent buzzes and burns althroughout her limbs, nearly forcing out a cry of pain. She let out a whimper instead, too weak and hurt to raise her voice. Before she knew it though, she heard a shout and the immense pressure was no longer on her lower back.

Myrcella forced herself up, just enough to catch a bashful grin on her savior's face. "Are you alright, m'lady?" asked Robb Stark as he held out a hand toward her. 

"Y-Yes, thank you." She whispered breathlessly, taking the hand. She hardly ever thought Robb Stark, of all men, would come to her rescue like this. Their fathers were dear friends, but she never knew the Stark children so well. Maybe she should change, she thought, heart racing. Now standing, she was reluctant to unsheath her hand from his, welcoming the warmth of his strong hands.

Off to the side though, she noticed the anguished dark-haired Stark with her pet and a puzzled Greyjoy, neither too happy for Robb's detour. Thankfully for them, and so unfortunately for herself, he headed off after helping her up and leaving her a kiss on the hand.

 

Smile twisting back into a frown, she looked down in tears at the unconscious form of her brother and said, "I'm telling Mother."


	3. Cuts Deeper Than Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya grieves for her friend lost, while her father worries for whom she may have crossed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a bit of a time skip, as there really isn't anything more to be said of their night other than looking for Mycah's body and the murderers. By the way, this is in Eddard Stark's point of view, for all you Ned fans. He's seen these sorts of murders before, sadly, and he knows the sort of reasons one might kill a man, from his years of intrigue. I feel like I've made Ned just a bit too gruff in this scene, but, well, keep in mind that it's a different setting and different situation than it was in the books. 
> 
> Thank you again for your support!

 

The dawn light draped over them like the heavens upon the blasphemers. "Do you have the body?" Eddard asked, a shiver running down his spine from merely having to _ask_ such a question.

 

His eldest gave a solemn nod, the cue for Greyjoy to fetch the body and place it before him. He pulled down the lad's collar to confirm his daughter's account of what had happened last night in the woods. He needed to see for himself whether this was murder or a simple accident. He loved his children, but he knew they could be as subject to mistakes as any man.

Perhaps it hadn't been murder. Perhaps it had just been the boy tripping a certain way, neck cracking too far in the process, and Arya _thought_ she saw someone. Perhaps someone had been there, though, and that meant the poor lad saw something or heard something he shouldn't have. He swallowed hard and with some bile building at that thought. If that was the case, it meant his daughter was in danger too.

He still didn't know what he'd tell the boy's parents, who'd loved Mycah as fiercely as Ned loved his own.

"Most likely ran out of air when his neck was broken," He told them, which meant his worry had come true. "The mark here at the base of his throat is, without a doubt, from a large hand."

"So Arya Underfoot was telling the truth, that it _was_ a murder." Not even the Greyjoy could ignore the gravity of the situation.

"You're _talking_!" shouted a familiar voice, out of the blue. Ned got up from his crouching to see Arya standing there with them in the yard, eyes red and lips trembling as well as her hands. "All you're doing is talking _here_ and talking _there_ , but Mycah was _murdered_! And the lot of you are doin' nuthin' bout it! H-He's- He's done _nuthin'_ to-to _no one_ b-but now he's-" Suddenly, a hand was on her shoulder that she promptly shoved away. Robb took the hint, but he seemed guilty all the same. 

"I told you to keep her _inside_!" He muttered furiously, voice nearly coming out a growl. His poor babe did not need to see this, as strong as she was. No one should watch as someone examines the dead body of their loved one. He knew that well enough from the wars he'd fought and the family he'd lost many years ago. All it did was make the reality of the situation rain down ever harder, like a jagged hailstorm that refused to quit.

"Father, I-" Robb replied, looking as though he killed a man without intention, "You know her. It's not easy to keep her anywhere she doesn't want to be."

Eddard Stark sighed and shook his head, not wanting to scold him thoroughly when Arya was so heartbroken. "Arya, go inside." He suggested gently,  "Please, your mother will worry."

"But, f-father, Mycah's dead 'cause of _me_ , why should I go inside the house like normal when the man who killed him is still out there? In this _town_ , even?!" She cried, without meaning to, without wanting to, but grief had its way of overwhelming one's restraint. She wiped at her tears, determined to be strong, just as he tried to be strong so many years ago. Arya even looked like her, long face covered in tears and bright eyes turned sad.

"Because, I'm going to handle it," was his answer. "Now go inside before Robb has to drag you in."


	4. What is it else?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willas Tyrell goes about his business as usual and neglects the fact that he, with love, is but a fool.

Willas Tyrell tended toward understanding.

He knew motives. He knew the why's and the how's. He knew people.

However, the redhead with the sky blue eyes and whole world in her heart threw him in for a loop.

Every morning, like clockwork, she'd stroll in as he did his books on the profits of the day previous. Her courtesies rang out charmingly genuine, and yet he would always wait for her to reveal a purpose unspoken. She never would reveal any reason, spoken or otherwise, and he'd take that as a sign to stop getting distracted with strange girls and get back to work. Maybe it should have stopped there, but it hadn't. As he checked and double-checked his inventory, she organized the books and made certain the catalog was in order. He never had to ask. She just did.

Just what did Sansa Stark find so charming about his little bookshop?

The question - and the girl it starred- baffled him and continued to concern him. She was a lovely young maiden of fifteen. She should have been flirting with boys her age, out giggling with her friends over tea, or whatever it was girls his sister's age did. She would have been wed already, if her parents weren't so lenient and the possibilities in town so unimpressive. There was Theon Greyjoy, who had more arrogance than sense. Joffrey Baratheon was much worse though, with his rotten attitude and affinity for violence. And his youngest brother Loras wasn't exactly suitable for any lady. The rest of her options were not numerous and certainly not any knights like the ones in those medieval romances she loved so much.

He could never be a knight, as crippled as he is.

"Good morning, Mr. Tyrell. I trust you slept well?" She greeted him, right on time as usual. Not that he kept track of what time she came in by the minute. 8:35. _Okay_ , mayhaps he did.

"Ms. Stark, why would you be concerned with my sleeping patterns?" He asked, not willing to believe that she'd simply ask about his well-being. Even though she had started to do that as of late: ask him questions such as "Did you make a nice profit yesterday?" or "Is your family well?"

She peered over at him discreetly, a coy smile playing upon her lips. That simply made him feel more suspicious. And a little giddy too. Perhaps he should cut out the caffeinated earl grey in the mornings, like he always intended to but never found the right time to start. It was likely the caffeine making his heart beat erratically. "Am I not allowed to inquire after the well-being of my fellow man?"

Touche. He was probably reading too much into it. Being a Tyrell did that, made one wonder if someone was to be taken as face-value or if they had ulterior motives.

He rolled the wheels of his chair and maneuvered from the counter to beside the redhead putting a stray _Hamlet_ back with its brethren on the shelf. "Fair enough. How are _you_ doing, little miss Stark?"

She scoffed, giving him a strange look, "Little? I'm five and ten." She then turned her upperbody to fetch another book in the open to put it in its rightful place.

"You're less than half my age. Now, I call that "little"." To that, she fell silent, her expression unreadable.

He rolled along beside her as she slipped another book on a shelf. She turned quickly to the other side of the room, now avoiding his gaze. How fitting that the first day he indulge in friendliness be the very day she push him away.

"Stark? Are you alright, my lady?" He asked, unsure if it was something he had said or if she just didn't like being countered.

"Of course," She mumbled, arms crossed over her chest. He would have pushed the issue further, but they had a customer.

Wait, when did it become "they"? No, he, _Willas_ , had a customer. Ms. Stark didn't work here, nor would she ever need to.

"Who mans this establishment?" a silky, all too familiar voice rang out. What was _Cersei Lannister_ doing in his shop? The Lannisters were so well-off that they shipped expensive luxuries in from overseas. They didn't need to bother buying books from his shop. They were just that damn _wealthy_.

He cleared his throat, realizing that a word from a Lannister could make or break his business. "Me! I- I'm Willas Tyrel-" He answered all too quickly, so nervous he stumbled over his words. Oddly enough, the usually very polite Stark girl hadn't said a single syllable in greeting.

And, in a voice as sweet as honey, "Did I ask your name? I think not. I'm only looking for a certain volume detailing the family tree of the Baratheons in which..." But he started to tune her out when he looked to his side and saw that Ms. Stark wasn't there. He looked about the room, nodding a little here and there to pretend he was listening. It seemed the girl had left.

He frowned. What a strange girl indeed.

"Excuse me, but if you aren't even willing to dir-"

"I know what book you're looking for. We don't have it anymore," He replied bluntly after he came to his senses. "Mr. Arryn and Mr. Baratheon's brother purchased our last copy. I believe Mr. Stark holds it as of a few days ago."

 

Right as he finished his elaboration, she slammed the door to the shop behind her, leaving the faint scent of ale in her absence.

 


	5. Madness Most Discreet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime wonders what his sweet sister is scheming, while Cersei is absolutely fuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I figured it was important.

_Love is a funny thing_ , Jaime thinks from time to time. _It rots the brain and dulls the senses, until ever-deepening, all-consuming affection is all you can feel. It's a queer kind of madness, when you think about it. Delusions, fits of grandeur, fluttering of the innards._

"Jaime," She hummed, and he grinned. _The constant urge to touch and be touched_ , he added, as she traced his outline of his bones with kisses.

"Cersei," He answered, mimicking her tone almost sardonically.

Her lips left his ribcage then, fixing a glare on him. "Did you listen to a word I said?"

"Something something the Starks are a menace?" He smirked, knowing full well how droll her rants became once it drifted onto the Starks.

"Stark has the book detailing the Baratheon family tree. I'd think you'd be worried for once." She pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do you not see what's happening here?"

"So Stark wanted to do some research. Do you really think he can prove it? Even if he accused us and your husband _believed_ him, Father will protect our honor and smooth things over. He _always_ does." Jaime frowned, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair from Cersei's face and tucking it behind her ear. "You worry far too much for someone with such a comfortable lifestyle, love."

Cersei shook her head, leaning back from his touch. "Easy for you to say, when you don't have the most to lose."

"What do you want to me to do, then? Flail about my arms? Run from room to room in a panic? _One_ of us has to keep a cool head in this, it may as well be me." He was rewarded with the sight of her walking away from him, and he cursed under his breath. "Cersei-"

"If you won't do something about it, then I will." She slipped on her dress and laced it up, turning to face him. "Jaime, this is for the good of all of us."

"Cersei, are you sure this is the path you want to take? Once you go down this road..." Jaime sat up, gaze softening as he watched her dress. "It gets harder and harder to turn back.."

But, she was already at the door, flashing him a small smile. "I can't let it get out. You know that, brother."

When the door closed, Jaime laid back down, letting his head hit the pillows beneath him.

_Love is a funny thing_ , Jaime thinks from time to time. _But, somehow, I'm no longer laughing._


End file.
